


deadly games

by khrysallis



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Blood and Gore, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5032876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khrysallis/pseuds/khrysallis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(The Hunger Games!AU) Jongin believes that as long as he's with Luhan, they'll be able to get through the Games together. But they have forgotten one fundamental point of the Games: There can only be one Victor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	deadly games

There is a sense of calmness overlying the scenery in front of them, with coconut trees providing enough shade for them as they lay on the sandy beach, their surroundings silent save for the sound of waves lapping against the shore and the occasional flapping of wings of birds overhead. On such days when the sun is high up with not a cloud in sight, people in their district would rejoice, all clambering to head to sea and make full use of the day ahead. On such days, people could almost forget they were under tyrannical rule.  
  
Jongin wants to scoff at the falsity they were lulling themselves into, but doesn't. A temporary illusion is always better than the fanfare happening in the heart of the district, less of an eyesore. He still can't comprehend how the others could celebrate a time of death.  
  
It's distasteful.  
  
There's a burdened sigh, as if on cue with his thoughts. He's very aware of the other person's presence next to him on the beach, but Jongin doesn't look at him, opting instead to speak into the air.  
  
"It's that time of the year again, huh."  
  
Jongin hears the scraping of hair against sand, an indication that the person next to him had nodded. "It's been six years since I started putting my name in for Reaping. What are the odds of me getting reaped as Tribute this year?"  
  
Jongin's heart stops momentarily, his breath stuttering at the grim reminder, but he knows what the other boy wants to hear. "A hundred percent. Except, you're not getting reaped, Luhan." He says quietly. He hears his voice wavering, but he swallows, swallows and pretends nothing's wrong.  
  
Luhan chuckles softly. "You know me a little too well, Jongin."  
  
 _I've been with you for so long, how could I not?_ Jongin thinks to himself. He keeps his gaze on the cloudless sky, even if the sunlight is burning permanent imprints into his eyes. The silence lasts for a moment too long, then Jongin sighs. “It’s time to go.”  
  
He gets up and walks away before Luhan could even pull himself up from the sand.  


  
  
  
\--

  
  
  
“I volunteer as Tribute.”  
  
Two other voices echo in the square when two names have been reaped from the container. Two hands shoot up. No one bats an eyelash. No gasps, no murmurs of surprise. The silence is almost deafening.  
  
It’s the norm in their District, for Careers to volunteer after names have been picked. That’s what they have been training for since young. This is the day they have been waiting for, to earn the top honours for their district in the annual Hunger Games, and to propel themselves into a life of comfort.  
  
Rather, this is where only Luhan’s supposed to volunteer. Jongin does it out of impulse.  
  
Jongin can feel the weight of Luhan’s gaze on him all the way from where he's standing, heavy and oppressive and _questioning_ , but he stares resolutely ahead, his hand remaining in the air until the official from the Capitol invites them onto the stage.  
  
He doesn’t look at Luhan then, either.  
  


  
  
\--

  
  
  
“Are you crazy?” There’s a snarl approaching him from behind, but Jongin doesn’t even flinch when Luhan seizes him by the scruff of his shirt and slams him against the wall of the train. He’s been expecting this, and he’s more surprised that Luhan hadn’t punched him in the government building when they were waiting to see their family members before being escorted to the Capitol. He knows Luhan had been several minutes away from pulling one earlier, from the way he kept sending murderous glares in Jongin's direction whenever he had the chance.  
  
Jongin sends a lazy smirk at Luhan. “Never been saner.”  
  
Luhan lifts him away from the wall and slams him against it again, probably intending to jolt some sense back into Jongin's head. Jongin wants to point out that it’s a little too late for this, that they’re on the way to become human sacrifices for the sake of entertaining the citizens of Capitol, but doesn’t. He thinks Luhan might end his life before they would even reach the city, and that would beat the purpose of him volunteering.  
  
“Why did you volunteer?” Luhan hisses, trying to keep his voice down low. He evidently does not want to attract the attention of the representative from Capitol, or their mentor Yesung who are both in the next compartment.  
  
Jongin laughs dryly. "I'm a Career, _just like you_." He says. "I _train_ for the sake of volunteering for the Games."  
  
Luhan's gaze doesn't falter. "I know you do." He snaps. "But your time isn't up yet. You haven't received enough training to guarantee the survival of your own ass, you dumbfuck."  
  
Jongin's eyes narrow at Luhan, and he gives Luhan's arm a rough shove to free himself. "Who are you to tell me I’m not ready?” He says, glaring at Luhan so the older boy wouldn’t step any closer to him. He fixes his clothes, its material scratchy against his skin, nothing like the ones he’s used to wearing in the district, and leans against the wall, his gaze on Luhan challenging. For a moment, he wonders if he had imagined the flicker of hurt and conflict in Luhan’s eyes, hinting of something broken. It’s gone when Jongin blinks.  
  
“You have been training for no more than two years.” Luhan reminds him darkly. “That hardly constitutes as _adequate training_ , Jongin.”  
  
Jongin laughs dryly. “Shall I also remind you that the trainer said I had the best potential and learn extremely fast as well? I can hold my own in a fight.”  
  
“Actual combats and simulation trainings aren’t the same.”  
  
Jongin refuses to hear the rest of it, and turns away from Luhan. “I know I can do this, Luhan.” He says quietly as he walks out of the compartment. “I can do this if you’re there with me.”  
  
It’s nothing more than a bare whisper, but it’s everything Jongin has ever wanted to tell Luhan.  
  


  
  
\--

  
  
  
“Have you had _enough_ of avoiding me?”  
  
Jongin turns around with a mask of disinterest. “I was under the impression that _you_ were the one avoiding me, hyung.” He says, eyes slitted. They haven’t been talking out of necessity since their confrontation on the train, something that their mentor frowned upon, and they're only days away from the start of the Games.  
  
There’s a twisted sense of glee bubbling within Jongin when Luhan’s cheeks flush red. He’s very aware of the watchful eyes of the other Tributes around them in the training arena. There’s a large number of boys in the room, owing to the change in rules several years ago where children were no longer segregated by gender for the Reaping. He knows how this must look to them – two Tributes from the same district, at odds with one another. Nothing of the sort has happened before; Tributes of the same district generally worked together if they could, especially those from Career districts. Jongin has watched enough of the Games to know that this is what the other Tributes want, for them to kill each other in the arena. Perfect.  
  
So he keeps up the farce, walking out of the training arena without another word to Luhan. If Jongin’s guess is right, Luhan should be tailing after Jongin so that he could give him a piece of his mind in just a short moment.  
  
And he does, yelling angrily after Jongin about disrespecting him as an elder.  
  
Jongin grabs Luhan by the arm when they turn around a corner, ducking out of sight. He presses a palm against Luhan’s mouth to smother the angry curses that’s tumbling off his tongue, sending a stern look at Luhan to shut him up. “Listen, hyung. I’m not avoiding you, so can you stop cursing my family to hell and back? It’s not appreciated.”  
  
Luhan narrows his eyes at him menacingly then. He may look relatively gentle and harmless, but Jongin knows better than to get on the bad side of the older boy. He releases his hold on Luhan at once.  
  
“What’s the big idea? You _don’t_ walk away when someone’s talking to you.”  
  
Jongin frowns at him. “Haven’t you seen the way the other Tributes were watching us earlier?” He asks, and gets his answer when Luhan’s forehead scrunches in confusion. “They were waiting for us to maul each other, but we all know that’s not going to happen as long as we’re not in the arena.” Jongin tells him. Tributes are supposed to avoid fighting each other outside the Games’ arena.  
  
“Your point is?” Luhan hedges. There’s suspicion in his eyes, and Jongin doesn’t quite like the way their relationship has progressed since the Reaping. Luhan used to trust in Jongin unconditionally in the past; not recently.  
  
But this is his chance to make amends.  
  
“My point is, we should continue pretending that we hate each other’s guts, _until_ we get into the Games.” Jongin suggests, the ecstasy dancing in his eyes. He’s excited by the prospect of things. By letting the other Tributes think that they couldn’t see eye to eye, it would divert their attention away from the pair. “Do you see where this is going?”  
  
The confusion sticks around for a moment longer, before Luhan’s eyes slowly brightens up with realisation. He’s the smarter one between them, after all. “We’ll catch them unawares when the time comes.”  
  
“Yes,” Jongin nods, careful to keep the enthusiasm out of his words. He’s sure Luhan can see his true intentions. “We can win this.”  
  
Luhan nods back in wonderment. “We can.” Jongin smiles as he feels the way Luhan laces his fingers with his, his hold tightening around Luhan's smaller hand naturally. He doesn't really care if Luhan doesn't even realise what he's doing.  
  


  
  
\--

  
  
  
With Luhan’s brains and Jongin’s cunningness, it isn’t at all difficult for them to fool the rest of the Tributes, or the audience watching them. They pretended to have a deep-seated rivalry during the talk show with Hodong, so fierce that they can’t wait to get into the Arena to maul each other in front of the cameras for the world to see.  
  
But of course, no one knows they were putting up a show, not even Yesung, who has long since given up on trying to get them to work together. No one needs to know that Luhan and Jongin were touted as the pair who understood each other the most by their trainer back in District 4. Their acting was seamless, and for each hurtful word they’d said about the other on screen, they made up for it with desperate kisses stolen in the dark, when everyone else in their accommodation was asleep.  
  
Surprisingly, Luhan's the one who had initiated it, pressing his forehead against Jongin's back one night when they had staged a particularly dramatic fight, where he'd given Jongin a cut on the lip. The back of Jongin's shirt absorbed all the tears Luhan had shed and all the _sorry_ s he'd said, and when Jongin had turned around to whisper to Luhan that it was okay, Luhan had went on tiptoes and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on Jongin's split lip.  
  
Their kisses come as naturally as breathing, and it feels a little like he’s drowning in the sea sometimes, but Jongin desperately clings on to them anyway.  
  
They go back to pretending when morning looms.  


  
  
  
\--

  
  
  
It isn't until the day of reckoning that they get to test out their theory. It's the most nerve-wracking wait Jongin has ever been through, that one minute he had to spend waiting in the pod as the seconds tick down to zero. His palms are damp with sweat as he clenches and unclenches his fists, wondering if he'll be a part of the statistics the moment the Tributes get unleashed into the Arena. Jongin shakes his head hard to clear his thoughts, telling himself that this isn't the time to be pessimistic. He _has_ to survive this, _has_ to go home to his family, _has_ to do whatever he hasn't had the opportunity to do with Luhan. He can't see Luhan, having been pulled into two separate rooms to suit up, but he imagines he can feel Luhan's steady heartbeat beating against his chest when he closes his eyes.  
  
When Jongin opens his eyes next, it's filled with determination, a silent promise to himself that he's not going to go down without a fight, and the deadliness he's known for in private. There's someone he needs to protect, even if that person doesn't want it.  
  
In the dying seconds of the wait, Jongin startles a little when his pod shoots upwards, and he squints when ceiling lamps turn into bright suns. The landscape around the Cornucopia hasn't changed much from the previous year, but it looks like the Gamemaster this year decided to heat things up a little. When his eyes have finally adjusted to the change in light intensity, he immediately searches for Luhan, and finds him standing in a pod across the field.  
  
Eight seconds on the clock. Luhan catches his gaze then, and Jongin falls right into the act.  
  
 _I have my eyes on you_ , he gestures at Luhan with a smirk.  
  
Luhan’s slender pointing finger curls mockingly, as if challenging Jongin to jump at him right now. _Show me what you’ve got_ , he mouths with an equally condescending look.  
  
Three seconds left. They can both feel the watchful eyes of the other Tributes falling upon them, as though feeling the tension, so thick in the air that it’s smothering them.  
  
 _You’re going down_ , Jongin mouths back, and launches himself right off the pod when the glass shield goes down, sprinting towards the Cornucopia with his and Luhan’s survival in mind.  


  
  
  
\--

  
  
  
Jongin's breath comes out in stutters as he climbs up a particularly tall tree, being careful not to slip on its slippery bark. It has been raining for the past three days, and he's soaked to the bones, even with the apparently water-resistant clothes they had been given by the Capitol. It's a good thing he has lived by the sea all his life, and has had his fair share of days being soaked right through. The cold is almost welcomed now. He finds a particularly solid branch and straps himself in for the night, his body aching from all the running that morning.  
  
His eyes were barely shut when he hears the telltale sound of a cannon being fired at the sky, and he straightens himself on the branch he's on, staring at the images that form over the heavy, dark clouds, blinking away the rainwater that pricks at his eyes.  
  
It has been five days since the start of the Games, and there are only a third of the Tributes left in the arena. Most of those dead were killed within the opening hour of the Games itself, when they were trying to get ahold of some weapons and basic supplies at the Cornucopia. Jongin supposes they had completely missed the fact that Tributes from Career districts were extensively trained in close-quarters combat, sans weapons. One twist of their neck, and their lives would be completely snuffed out in an instant.  
  
Jongin should know. He'd turned on the petite Tribute from District 11 when the girl had tried to outrace him for the bow and arrows. Her pale face and wide eyes as she slid lifelessly to the ground remains fresh in his mind, even now. It was the first time Jongin had ever killed someone, but Yesung was right – killing only gets easier once you detach yourself from the strong emotions that come with it.  
  
Jongin remembers how he’d emptied his stomach contents after committing his second kill, with an arrow through the Tribute’s eye. He had sent the boy writhing on the ground with blood pouring ceaselessly out of his wounded socket, and had ended his misery with another arrow through the heart. He can taste the acid at the back of his throat, and he quickly wills away the memories. The other kills were easier to deal with – a girl with her throat slit, another boy with his head bludgeoned, having been slammed repeatedly into a tree bark until his skull cracked and the blood came flowing out of his ears and nose.  
  
Although a part of him knows that the order of deaths reported is based on the Tributes’ district, Jongin doesn’t rest easy until the last image fades away. It’s a boy from District 7 – a rather pretty looking one, if Jongin might add – called Sehun, and Jongin wonders if Luhan’s the one who had killed him. There are three more deaths that day, but Luhan’s safe, at the very least, and Jongin pushes the worries to the back of his mind.  
  
It doesn’t stop him from having a fitful sleep that night, however. Five Tributes left in the game. He _has_ to find Luhan soon.  


  
  
  
\--

  
  
  
His breaths are loud even to his own ears as he races through the forest, hopping over prominent tree roots and ducking under low branches, running away from the unseen hunter behind him. He can feel his heart pounding violently against his chest, both from exertion and from alarm. The arrow quiver is slamming painfully into his back, but Jongin can’t care less – not when he’s running for his life.  
  
Jongin had a rude wake up call that morning, when a flying dagger had whizzed dangerously over the top of his head while he was still asleep. It’s a good thing he’s a light sleeper; Jongin would have been a part of the statistics by now if he wasn’t. He has been on a run since, and his pursuer didn’t seem to want to give up anytime soon.  
  
As he continued to sprint to safety – or at least put a good distance between him and the Tribute hunting him down so that he could put his bow and arrows to good use – Jongin pulls up a mental checklist of the remaining Tributes in the Games. Apart from him and Luhan, there’s that _very_ tall Career from District 1, Wu Fan and his deceptively kind-looking partner, Yixing (deceptive, because he didn’t even flinch when he had sliced the head clean off another Tribute’s neck with an axe); and the other Tribute from District 7 whom Jongin knows is well-trained in martial arts, Zitao.  
  
Judging by the sharp rocks that have been aimed at his neck for the past few minutes – crude, but crafted to kill – Jongin deduces that Zitao’s the one hot on his tail. The Capitol doesn’t leave things like that lying around on the forest floor, Jongin is sure; he has been looking around to replenish his stock of weaponry, and the Tributes from District 1 didn’t seem capable of crafting their own weapons – they never had the need to.  
  
Deciding that he should throw Zitao off-course, Jongin ran for a bit more before suddenly swerving sharply around a particularly huge tree and disappearing under the thick foliage. Except, he remembers belatedly, that he shouldn’t do such things unless he’s dead sure of the terrain, like the mangrove forests back in his district where he’d spent all his time out of training catching crabs and shrimps with Luhan, when he finds himself tripping over a particularly thick root and sprawling across the muddy forest floor.  
  
His heart sinks when footsteps approach him from behind, slowing down from a jog into a casual stroll, and Jongin swallows and turns around to meet his pursuer at long last, knowing that it’s going to be impossible for him to get up and run without getting a dagger stuck between his shoulderblades. He winces at the way his cuts sting from the dirt coating them, his chest heaving violently as he catches his breath, and looks up.  
  
Zitao’s victorious smirk greets his sight, just as Jongin had expected. “I’m surprised you’re still capable of running around in the Arena. I thought you would’ve been killed by your dear friend by now.” He comments, tipping Jongin’s head up with his knife beneath Jongin’s chin. Jongin keeps his gaze level, not even flinching when the tip of Zitao’s knife cuts into his skin and draws blood. It’s sticky and uncomfortable as it coalesces with the thick film of grime on his neck, but Jongin’s defiant. He’s not going to die in indignation.  
  
“Are you talking about Luhan?” Jongin sneers as he tries not to choke on the name. “If you think he’s capable of taking me down, you’re wrong. He’s only good at running away from danger.”  
  
Zitao’s smug expression falls for a moment. “Doesn’t seem that way to me when he killed Sehun.” He says darkly, and Jongin realises his guess was right. “Did you know–” Zitao drives the tip of the knife deeper into Jongin’s skin, impinging on his airpipe but not piercing through it. His gaze on Jongin burns. “–that he chopped Sehun’s fingers off, tortured the hell out of him, before disemboweling him? And I had to watch him do that to Sehun from afar without being able to help him.”  
  
Jongin swallows thickly. He had no idea Luhan was capable of such things, and the thought itself sickened him. Out loud, he says, “He probably pissed Luhan off big time.” It was true; Luhan sometimes lost control of his own actions when he’s majorly pissed. Jongin has witnessed some of his more violent outbursts, and has vowed to never be on the receiving end of that.  
  
“Doesn’t even matter anymore.” Zitao laughs dryly, and it sounds so broken that Jongin realises that Zitao had been in love with Sehun. If he knew about Jongin’s relationship with Luhan– “Now how should I deal with you? Shall I tie you up against that tree–” Zitao looks up, and Jongin follows his line of sight despite himself, “–and peel your skin off, layer by layer, or should I stick knives through your body and let you bleed to death?”  
  
Jongin spits in his face, just to rile him up further, and Zitao flinches a little from his actions. “You can suck my dick.”  
  
His words finally pushes Zitao over the edge, and Jongin keeps his head high, eyes closed when Zitao brings the knife down upon him. Jongin has been told that his entire life would flash before his eyes in his dying moments, but all he can see is Luhan’s smiling face as he calls his name, all he can feel is Luhan’s warm lips on his, kissing the breath out of him in the darkness. There’s a splash of warm, sticky liquid that smells like rusted metal across his face just then, and Jongin’s eyes are startled open when he registers the absolute lack of pain accompanying it.  
  
He gasps in surprise at the sight that greets him – Zitao’s expression is a mixture of astonishment and confusion, his knife still held in mid-air, but there’s blood flowing in a steady stream from the front of his throat. Something suddenly glints silver amongst the scarlet, and when Jongin takes a better look, he realises it’s the tip of another dagger.  
  
“Stay away from Jongin.” A voice, soft, calm, and contrasting greatly with his deed speaks up then, carrying with it a sense of immense familiarity that makes Jongin blink up in disbelief.  
  
Luhan pulls his dagger out of Zitao’s throat, leaving him in a gurgling mess as he drowns in his own blood on the ground, and wiped the blade clean on Zitao’s clothes. It takes another couple of seconds before he’s rushing forward to pull Jongin into a rib-crushing hug as Zitao’s life ebbs away behind them.  
  
Jongin doesn’t care if he feels as though he’s suffocating. All he can feel is the immense relief – relief that he’s not dead, relief that Luhan had found him, relief that they’re reunited through such a harrowing experience – that rushes up to greet him, bringing with it the tears that can’t seem to stop, no matter how hard he tries to will them away. He clings onto Luhan as though his life depended dearly on the contact, choking on his own sobs as Luhan runs his blood-stained hand soothingly over Jongin’s back.  
  
“It’s okay,” Luhan tells him, “everything’s going to be okay,” and Jongin begins to believe in that.  
  


  
  
\--

  
  
  
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Luhan’s gentle voice is amplified by the cave walls surrounding them, pulling Jongin out of his thoughts. Jongin blinks slowly, once, twice, taking in their surroundings in a dazed manner and wondering where they are. He’s confused for a long moment, having spent days on end fending for himself without any companionship, and hearing Luhan’s voice so close to him now throws him off greatly.  
  
It isn’t until his cheek is cupped by a warm, calloused hand that Jongin regains his bearings, his vision swimming back into focus. He reaches up to his neck and realises there’s a bandage already in place. Luhan’s looking up at him with concern dancing in his bright eyes, and Jongin draws a breath to keep himself from kissing Luhan full on the mouth.  
  
“I’m fine.” He lies a second later. The exhaustion sits bone-deep, and he’s aching all over. All he wants is to be done with this and to curl up on the sandy beach of their district with Luhan in his arms, but those are words he can’t bring himself to say, even after all this while.  
  
Jongin is suddenly all too aware of the cameras trying to film their faces, and he instinctively backs away from Luhan, remembering the show they were supposed to put on for the Capitol. The way the hurt flashes across Luhan’s delicate features cut him up deep inside, but he feigned nonchalance and turns his back towards Luhan.  
  
“There’s no longer a need to pretend, Jongin.” Luhan speaks up then. Jongin stiffens, then turns a little to regard Luhan. He sees nothing but sincerity reflected in those eyes pinning him down.  
  
“I’m tired of pretending,” Luhan says again, and scoots closer to Jongin. It takes Jongin a little longer before he realises there’s four Tributes from two Districts left, and there’s no need for them to keep up with their act any longer. It no longer matters. “I don’t want to say hurtful things about you anymore because _they’re not true_.”  
  
Only then does Jongin allow himself to reach for Luhan, cupping Luhan’s face with his hands and taking a long while to commit Luhan’s features to memories. Luhan’s a little more impatient than he is. He grabs Jongin by the front of his shirt, pulling him forward and pressing their lips together, completely disregarding the fact that they’re being watched by the entire nation.  
  
They no longer have a care for the world; all they wanted was each other.  
  


  
  
\--

  
  
  
That night, Luhan and Jongin explored each other in a way they have never done before. The kisses exchanged are urgent and desperate, but it’s the only way they can assure the other that they’re there, they’re breathing, they’re _alive_. It feels real and unreal at the same time, and Jongin grasps a little more desperately at Luhan, pulling him impossibly closer.  
  
Jongin doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it before the Gamemaster decides that enough is enough, and stops filming them altogether. He only knows Luhan’s kisses are intoxicating, can only feel Luhan’s lips leaving a heated trail along his jaw, down his neck, his torso, the protrusion of his hipbones. His skin feels like it’s on fire, and the way Luhan’s nails are digging into his back gives him a mix of pain and pleasure. It’s more real than anything he’s been through in the past few days.  
  
When Luhan’s lips are sealed around his cock, Jongin’s back arches off the floor in pleasure, his fingers tangling in Luhan’s soft brown locks and begging him to go faster. Luhan obliges, flicking his tongue this way and that, taking Jongin into his mouth and then leaving him with a sense of loss when he pulls away before taking him whole again, driving Jongin insane with pleasure. Something tells Jongin this isn’t the first time Luhan has done this, but he doesn’t care. All he wants is for the spaces around him, in him to be filled with Luhan, Luhan, Luhan.  
  
And he gets his wish fulfilled, when Luhan coats his digits with some leftover salve from his sponsors and pushes one finger after the other into Jongin. Jongin feels like he’s being split in half, yet the pain feels so _good_. When Luhan has worked Jongin open with his fingers, he slicks his own cock up and lines himself against Jongin’s entrance, pushing in slowly and gently as though Jongin would break if he were any rougher, peppering Jongin with feather-light kisses and touches and silent apologies when Jongin hisses from the pain.  
  
Luhan works up a slow pace, allowing Jongin to get used to his length inside him, and thrusts more rapidly when Jongin begins to beg him to _move it_. He pries out filthy moans and desperate keens out of Jongin when he hits Jongin’s prostate, hooking Jongin’s legs around his neck so that he can work at a constant, deep angle that makes Jongin see stars.  
  
Jongin’s the first to come undone, with Luhan thrusting erratically into him and his own hand pumping at his cock, and he splashes white over his abdomen. Luhan is brought into completion after several more thrusts, and he keeps himself buried within Jongin as they slump onto the floor of the cave, spent and sated but happier than they have been in weeks.  
  
“That was amazing. You’re amazing.” Luhan says as he noses at Jongin’s neck, his arms coming up to wrap around Jongin’s bare waist. Too tired to even think, Jongin allows himself to melt into Luhan’s embrace, feeling safe for the first time in a long while even though he’s supposed to be the one protecting Luhan through this.  
  
“Don’t leave,” Jongin breathes back. He can feel Luhan’s steady heartbeats against his shoulder blade, and it lulls him into a sleepy state, making him wonder if he’ll ever have the opportunity to lay down with Luhan like this ever again.  
  
He can feel Luhan smiling against his skin, his fingers running down Jongin’s arm in comforting strokes. “I won’t. Promise.”  
  
Except, Jongin doesn’t realise that they’re doing exactly what he’d promised himself not to do – deluding themselves into a sense of falsity. Caught up in the moment with Luhan, Jongin completely forgets that they’re still in the Games, that there’s still the threat of death hanging over their heads, that they’re only living on borrowed seconds.  
  
Luhan doesn’t remind him either, opting instead to watch Jongin closely through the night, even as his eyelids begin to droop from the weight of sleep.  
  


  
  
\--

  
  
  
“Beloved Tributes!” The voice of the Gamemaster booms throughout the Arena from invisible loudspeakers close to midnight. Jongin jolts up from his sleep and shares a worried look with Luhan. Sudden announcements can never be anything good.  
  
“You have done well to get to this stage! But we have decided to spice things up even more. Tomorrow at noon, you will have a showdown at the Cornucopia. No one can run away from this. District 1 against District 4. Who will be the winner? You tell me!”  
  
The silence and dread drags on, weighing heavily in their chests. Day Six passes into Day Seven.  


  
  
  
\--

  
  
  
They’re at the edge of the forest, right before the clearing which held the Cornucopia, when Jongin stops in his steps and tugs on Luhan’s hand that’s holding his. Luhan turns around with a bright smile on his face, and Jongin hates it, hates how Luhan is acting as though they’re about to embark on an adventure into the forest, hates how Luhan is pretending as though they’re not walking themselves right into a death trap.  
  
“What’s wrong, Jongin? We should get going. The time’s almost up and I’d hate for them to unleash Tracker Jackers or those Mutts on us.” Luhan says, sounding like it’s nothing more than a normal occurrence in their lives.  
  
Jongin tightens his grip on Luhan’s hand and pulls him close, burying his face in the space where Luhan’s neck meets his shoulder. “Stop it.” This time Jongin hates himself, for sounding so dependent on Luhan when he’s supposed to stand on his own feet, for not attempting to change Luhan’s mind when he still had the chance to do so. Now they’re stuck in the Arena, with nowhere else to go except to inch closer to their last breaths.  
  
Luhan raises his arm and is about to pat Jongin’s back, but freezes mid-action at Jongin’s words. “What?”  
  
“Stop acting like this doesn’t matter.” Jongin says again, and he absolutely loathes himself for sounding weak. “Stop acting like we’re going to walk out of this unscathed because _you know that’s not true_.” His fingers curl on the front of Luhan’s suit and slips on its material, unable to find purchase, and Jongin tries and tries again.  
  
He doesn’t want to think about how Luhan might slip away from him as easily as this.  
  
Luhan sighs against his ear, and finally wraps his arms around Jongin. The cameras whirr close to catch the moment. “But still we can try, can’t we? We either live through this together, or we’ll die together.”  
  
 _You’re lying_ , Jongin wants to scream, but somehow, he can only nod feebly, completely losing his will to refute Luhan’s words.  
  
Because when Jongin is with Luhan, it’s easy for him to forget about the rest of the world around them. Luhan becomes his world; always has, always will.  


  
  
  
\--

  
  
  
The designated time soon looms, and Jongin has to forcefully pry himself out of Luhan’s hold, steeling himself for the upcoming battle. He has shown too much of his weak side to the world, and he has to redeem himself. He needs to prove that he hasn’t gotten to this point by a stroke of good luck. There’s a tinge of sadness in Luhan’s smile when he does that, and Jongin breaks down his walls for a brief moment just to press a kiss to Luhan’s lips, to wipe the sadness away. Then, nocking an arrow onto his bow, he exchanges a firm look with Luhan and slowly walks out onto the clearing.  
  
The Arena is down to one sun that afternoon, but its rays are still scorching as though there were five of it. Jongin’s palms are damp with sweat, and he rhythmically tightens and relaxes his hold on the bow, trying to find the right grip on his weapon. Beside him, Luhan’s eyes are sharp as he searches the clearing for possible signs of Wu Fan and Yixing, his fingers firmly around his dagger in a backhanded grip. It’s a bit difficult for Jongin to superimpose this image of Luhan – deadly, dangerous – onto the boy who’d treated him with such exquisite gentleness just the night before, so he clears his mind and focuses on the task at hand instead.  
  
On the first sign of movement, Jongin immediately angles his body in that direction and lets an arrow sail through the air. He catches sight of a nimble dancer’s body with dark brown hair disappearing behind tall grass, swearing when his arrow narrowly misses the boy’s ankle. Jongin turns to look at Luhan then, trying to tell him to be careful, but all he sees is a large shadow barrelling in Luhan’s direction, ramming the delicate boy to the ground. The blood all but drains from Jongin’s face.  
  
He quickly moves to help Luhan, already preparing his next arrow, but Luhan catches on to his intentions quick enough to yell at him just as Jongin takes his first step forward.  
  
“No, Jongin! I can deal with him!” His voice carries over the clearing and pins Jongin in his spot with the insistence he hears in them. Luhan is strong, has always been strong, and he doesn’t need Jongin to fight his wars. The thought hurts Jongin more than it should, but Jongin bites on his lip and ignores it. “Watch out!”  
  
The sudden warning from Luhan has Jongin spinning around, and out of muscle memory, he draws the bowstring in one fast movement and releases it before he can even think about what he’s doing. Out of sheer luck, the arrow finds its mark in Yixing’s right shoulder joint, tearing a pained growl from him and sending the boy kneeling on the ground. Jongin pulls another arrow out of his quiver and furnishes his bow with it, approaching the injured Tribute cautiously. He has half the mind to help Luhan out with defeating Wu Fan, but he knows he’ll only serve as a distraction to Luhan, so he decides to trust that Luhan will make it through instead.  
  
Even in pain, Yixing keeps his head held high. “Lucky shot you got there, but there won’t be a next time,” he says through clenched teeth, glaring furiously at Jongin as he slowly gets to his feet. The blood is soaking through the fabric of his suit, making it glisten under the sunlight, but his grip on his sword remains strong. Jongin can see the way Yixing’s blood is flowing down the length of Yixing’s pale arm, streaking the blade in thin strips of scarlet before ending up on the grass, painting it red, and he’s somewhat glad that it isn’t his blood decorating Yixing’s weapon.  
  
“I don’t plan on relying on my luck, but maybe you should consider doing just that.” Jongin smirks back instead, drawing the bowstring just as Yixing launches himself at him. Yixing sidesteps the arrow that’s sailing at him, and swings his sword at Jongin with both hands. Jongin barely parries the attack, and Yixing’s weapon meets Jongin’s bow with a resounding clang.  
  
Kicking hard against the ground, Jongin propels himself backwards, desperate to put maximal distance between him and Yixing. He knows he’ll be in a great disadvantage if he doesn’t, and Yixing obviously knows that too. He chases after Jongin doggedly, slashing at Jongin with every opportunity he gets, leaving no room for Jongin to grab for an arrow or to do anything else but run.  
  
Jongin curses when the tip of Yixing’s sword catches his back, leaving a deep gash vertically down the right and spilling blood, but he tries not to let the pain distract him. Just as Yixing swipes at back of his neck, Jongin turns around to face Yixing, abandoning his bow on the ground. He quickly bends forward and rolls across the grass before the sword manages to find its target, ending up in a crouch behind Yixing. Jongin’s right about Yixing being nimble, though, when the other boy does a cartwheel with his good arm and turns to face Jongin again.  
  
He doesn’t even grace Jongin with the opportunity to catch his breath, sprinting at him once more with his sword raised. Jongin narrows his eyes, counting the seconds, and pulls out a dagger – the same one Zitao had nearly killed him with – from his boot at the very last moment. He rushes forward to meet Yixing in the middle, elbowing Yixing’s hand hard and making him drop the sword before the boy could even react, and slammed the back of his forearm against Yixing’s neck while hooking a foot around Yixing’s leg at the same time, bringing the other Tribute down.  
  
Jongin smirks at Yixing as he keeps his arm against Yixing’s neck to impede his supply of air and sits on him to keep him pinned against the ground. He’s all too aware of the rate at which he’s losing blood from the wound on his back, and the dizziness is beginning to settle in, but Jongin thinks he has the luxury to taunt Yixing just a little more. Yixing’s confidence had been through the roof – anyone can see that – and Jongin’s sure he wasn’t banking on losing his weapon along the way. The panic in Yixing’s eyes now tells Jongin that Yixing no longer has anything to defend himself with.  
  
“Any last words?”  
  
“Fuck you,” Yixing hisses, and it’s the only thing Jongin needs to drive his dagger through Yixing’s chest, right over where his heart is.  
  
As with all his other kills, Jongin goes blank for a long moment, allowing the reality of his actions to sink in while he comes down from the adrenaline high. It is always moments like these that drain him emotionally, bringing with it the tears of guilt. It doesn’t even matter if he keeps telling himself that killing is inevitable, that he needs to do this to survive, and a chill runs down his spine when he’s realises that the Capitol had always intended for this to happen, for the Tributes who live through the Games to remember that they have the blood of many on their hands and be ridden with the guilt that consumes them for years to come – to live with the knowledge that they’ve killed a child, a sibling, a friend, a lover of someone out there.  
  
It isn’t until his senses pick up on a pained scream that Jongin snaps out of the downward spiral of his emotions, and he looks up just in time to take in the sight across the field, of Wu Fan pinning Luhan on the ground, not unlike what Jongin had done to Yixing, of him dragging a dagger through Luhan’s gut and pulling it out, of Luhan’s blood dripping down on both of them when Wu Fan raises his dagger for a more fatal strike.  
  
And had Jongin not seen red and went berserk, Wu Fan would’ve dealt the finishing blow, too. But he doesn’t get the opportunity, for Jongin had sprinted all the way to his bow, loaded it with an arrow, and sent it piercing right through Wu Fan’s neck.  
  
Jongin’s breaths are heavy, his arms still frozen in position from when he’d taken a shot at Wu Fan as he watches Wu Fan’s eyes go wide in shock, then fall on his side. It takes another moment for Jongin to realise that he had killed Wu Fan when the sound of a cannon booms across the Arena, that he and Luhan are the only two Tributes left in the Games, and he immediately runs over to scoop the severely injured Luhan into his arms.  
  
“Luhan, _Luhan_ ,” he calls and shakes the boy gently, being careful not to cause him even more pain. Luhan had been on the brink of passing out, but he blinks a little and slowly opens his eyes at the sound of Jongin’s voice.  
  
The smile Luhan flashes at him feels a lot like a knife being driven right through his heart. “Hey, you made it.”  
  
“Hang in there,” Jongin sobs, pressing a hand against Luhan’s gaping wound and trying to stem the bleeding. The frustration claws at him when it doesn’t seem to even help slow down the flow of blood. “ _Hang in there._ We’re getting out of this place together, you hear me?”  
  
Jongin’s heart stutters again when Luhan’s bloodied hand comes up to cup his face, leaving a warm, sticky trail on his cheek. “It’s no use, Jongin. It’s too late for me.” Luhan says, and Jongin finds that he can’t do anything else but shake his head, as though the fast-looming reality could be changed with his actions.  
  
“ _No,_ ” he snaps through the tears. “You said you won’t leave me. You _promised._ ”  
  
“Jongin,” Luhan attempts to pacify him again, and Jongin wants to pretend that he doesn’t notice how Luhan’s growing weaker by the second, his life slipping right through his fingers. “Do you remember when I got angry at you for volunteering?”  
  
Jongin shakes his head vehemently, even though the memory has been imprinted in his mind. How could he forget?  
  
Luhan smiles again. “I was angry because I didn’t want you to get involved in this, because I didn’t want to see you crying for me when I die.”  
  
“I’d cry anyway, even if I’m watching through the television.” Jongin replies in spite of himself, earning a chuckle from Luhan. Jongin can’t understand how Luhan can remain so upbeat, even if he’s staring Death in the face.  
  
“I know, and that’s why I love you, Jongin. You’re so kind. This isn’t the place for you to be.” Luhan’s voice is close to a whisper now, and his lips are so shockingly pale that it scares Jongin. Not caring that they’re being watched, Jongin bends down and catches Luhan’s lips in a kiss, tasting the saltiness of tears and blood on them, desperate to return the colour to it. When it doesn’t work, he tries and tries and tries again, until Luhan presses a weak hand against Jongin’s chest to stop him.  
  
Jongin wants to fight against Luhan, but again he finds his will to do so dissipating when Luhan shakes his head lightly. He settles for pulling Luhan close to his chest, cradling him there in his arms, providing Luhan with the warmth that’s rapidly slipping away from Luhan’s body.  
  
“Live well, Jongin. Live well, and forget me.”  
  
It’s all that Luhan says before his fingers slide off Jongin’s cheek, leaving a damp trail of blood mixed with Jongin’s tears behind. Jongin only holds him impossibly closer, calling for Luhan over and over again, refusing to believe that Luhan is truly _gone_.  
  
Even as the officials from the Capitol descend to pick him up for treatment later, even as Jongin hears the Gamemaster declaring him the Victor of the year’s Hunger Games, he refuses to let Luhan go.  
  
He knows he's the Victor, but why does he feel as though he's lost everything?  
---  
  
 

 


End file.
